


The Girl in the Trees

by sophielila



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dystopian, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, It gets pretty dark, Kinda, Plot Twist, Sad Ending, Sci-Fi, So its like a tarzan retelling, but I still love them, but made heaps darker, but theres a cute ship, decent amount of violence, disney with a darkside, fair warning tho, fantasy??????, i love them, its really cute, jk they suffer, they are idiots and in love, v v loosely based on a disney story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-15 00:52:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10547236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophielila/pseuds/sophielila
Summary: She was happy in the Forest. She loved the trees, and the trees loved her. For as long as she could remember, she protected the Forest, and the Forest protected her.Until the others came, and took her away.They studied her, dissected and experimented.But her Forest calls for her. They want her back.And they will do anything to get her back.





	1. Chapter one - prologue

Even as a child, she had never been afraid of thunder. It seemed like the sky was talking to her, so she made up a language to reply to the sky. Lightning was like flowers in the sky, like the heavens reaching down and saying hello.

She sat curled in the hollowed out trunk of an oak tree, whispering softly to his leaves as he drifted into the next life. Years ago, a fire had ripped through the thicket and burned him free of his leaves and flowers. He had healed with the help of her whispers and lullabies, and had lived a beautiful life for hundreds of years.

They both knew his time had come to an end, but that it didn't necessarily signify the end of his time.

She always knew the stories raindrops carried. Every time a soul passed into the next life, their story wound it's way into a raindrop. That raindrop fell from the sky, and one way or another, created a new life, so one’s spirit was never really lost.

She felt the life fall from his leaves.

She stuck a calloused hand out into the rain, the drops running up her arm, nestling themselves in her mane of hair, and shimmering like crystals.

The moon lifted itself into the sky, and she fell asleep in the hollow of the tree.

The next morning, the thick grey clouds of yesterday had parted, and the sun had made his reappearance. She climbed out of her hiding spot, said a final goodbye to the tree, and stood in the sun, basking in the warmth upon her freckled cheeks. The wind whistled past, singing a good morning, her waist length auburn hair flying out behind her.

She lived in the woods, but these were not ordinary woods. Some of the woods were a rainforest, somewhere desert bushland, some were dense forests. There was a beach, rivers lakes, rock pools, any type of woodland one could imagine, she knew and loved. No human had ever entered the woods before, apart from her. The animals, plants, earth, water, even the wind and fire had accepted her as one of their own. As their protector. As their friend.

A red crested woodpecker landed on her shoulder, and she turned to greet it with a smile. The woodpecker said good morning, but the tilt of her head and the urgency in her song told the girl there was something very wrong.

 _My child. He is ill. Almost dead. Please, please help us,_  the woodpecker said.

 _Of course. Lead the way,_ she replied.

The woodpecker flitted off, darting through the trees, and the girl kept pace behind her, the trees sensing her importance of her sprint, and parting their boughs. Weeds moved their roots from her way, and leaves moved to cushion her feet. She slid down into a valley, over and outcropping, and came to a small brook. _Our nest is in that fig tree,_ the woodpecker said, nodding to the gigantic tangle of boughs above their heads. The lowest branch was double her height, at least, so she mumbled a quick but heartfelt apology to the tree (the tree said she was more than welcome to climb her vines), grabbed a handful of vines and pulled herself up. The wind pushed under her, the water tamed, and the vines strengthened under her feet.

She pulled herself onto the smooth bark, hoisting her legs up with a small grunt. Climbing had always come naturally to her, she'd spent her life swinging from vines and soaring from branch to branch since she could stand on two feet, so scaling the fifty feet to the nest in less than such seconds was really no trouble.

She peered over the edge of the twigs, and three tiny red headed woodpeckers chirped a bubbly hello. It seemed they had forgotten their sick brother, twittering questions about how long she was staying and if she'd play with them today and whether she thought they were ready to leave the nest yet. Long enough, yes, if you behave, and you'll have to take that up with your mother. Now, let me see your brother, please, She answered, kindly but quickly. The three parted, giving way to another tiny bird, almost identical to the others (save for a barely visible black speck on his wing) lying on his side on the other side of the nest. His breaths were erratic and irregular, and his eyes were closed. She lay a finger tip under his beak, and grimaced feeling his fever.

 _He's eaten a bad salmonberry, but luckily the cure is quite simple, I'll be right back._ The woodpecker nodded.

The girl leapt from branch to branch, to the forest floor and took off in a run. Her hands combed through the leaves as she went, feeling for the right ones. She swiped a shoot of mint as she passed, a few basil sprigs, and picked a small handful of clove seeds. She peeled of a section of sandalwood bark, and stopped to dig up a turmeric root when she felt it under her feet.

On her way back up to the nest she snagged a small jagged pebble, and a passionfruit from a passing bush and cracked it open, downing the contents of one half. Once she had positioned herself on the branch next to the nest, she quickly twist-shredded the basil and mint, shaved off some turmeric with her fingernail, and scraped the sandalwood against the pebble and collected the dust it gave. She mixed it all together in the empty passion fruit husk, making a syrupy sort of paste. She gently scooped up the frail bundle of feathers, placing a drop of the poultice of finger, and letting him weakly pick it off.

There was far more than the baby woodpecker needed - only four or five drops of it a day until he recovered, but the Girl figured there would be enough to help if he feel for the same berry again.

Young woodpeckers had a particular proclivity for making the same small errors multiple times before learning.

Soon his at least his tiny breaths had evened out somewhat, and he settled into a deep - if restless - sleep.

The mother bird thanked her profusely, claiming she and her family were indebted to her with their lives, but the Girl would have none of it.

 _No, you owe me nothing, but to live. It’s what I’m here for. Now, I will stay within close range for the next few days, until he is healed. If anything happens, I will hear your call._ And she skipped off.

Truth be told, she didn’t know why she was here.

She had lived in the forest for as long as she could remember. Some of her earliest childhood memories consisted of being cradled by vines, staring wide eyed and wonderfilled at the sunlight beaming through the colourful petals hovering above her face.

A chubby toddler, waddling and bumbling through the undergrowth, chasing butterflies only ever taking a few steps before falling again, but she was never hurt.

A child crying, mourning the death of a rabbit.

Playing hide-and-seek with the fish in the streams.

But she never knew why.

She wondered often.

She wondered why every living thing in the forest had a mother and a father, the only exception being her.

She wondered why she had no memories of anyone like her.

Had she been born in the Forest?

No - no other creature like her had ever stepped foot in this Forest - that much she knew in her bones.

Then why didn’t she remember anything of her family...?

So yes, she wondered often, but she worried not.

It never troubled her, merely gave opportunities for making up stories in her head.

She had her place with the trees, and the water, and the wind, and the beasts, it was a place she never wished to leave.

So wonder is probably an inappropriate word - it was more of a ponder. A thought flitting through her mind, but never causing any stress.

In the night, the trees gave her their branches they no longer needed, and she would paint them with light and heat. Many animals joined her at this time, curling into her for warmth when the cold bit at their ears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> K so now the pretty imagery emotive language (my english teacher would be so proud of me rn) is outta the way, the fun begins *rubs hands evilly*

My feet were blistering, my back was aching and my throat had never been so dry. Honestly I just wasted to go home and sleep for a few weeks. Mum was still at home, back in London. I looked at my watch. Just gone five. She’d be kicked back in her favourite arm chair with a cup of tea, watching the news right about now.

That hardly seemed fair, considering we’d been hiking for days, all twenty of us, looking for a damn _bird_ , and so far we’d found all but a squirrel.

The director of the expedition, Ernest Bowham Daedalus - who also happened to be my father - said he needed me on that expedition, but at that point I was pretty sure he just wanted an extra packhorse.  
Dad was a scientist, to be specific. He worked for the London Institute for Research of Natural Sciences, and was Head of Expeditions, and Director of Natural Experimentation.

***

“Off your lazy backsides, rise and shine, cupcakes!” shouted Clayton. ‘Rise and shine’ weren’t exactly the words you’d expect to hear from a man like him. James Clayton worked with my father, but wasn’t nearly as high up on fancy-title scale. He was a mercenary, more or less, hired to be the big scary one with the gun, to protect the small weedy one who does the sciencey stuff.

“You too, Princess.” he snarled, sticking his head into my tent.

“Coming, cominghghhg,” I groaned.

Being the Director’s son did have its perks, but sleep-ins weren’t one of them.

I dragged my sorry ass out my sleeping bag and cracked my back, trying to relieve some of the tension that comes from sleeping on the ground. I quickly dressed and rolled up my bag, and stepped outside to pack up my tent. I made my way over to our cart and chucked my bag over the side. The small campsite was already bustling, with all twelve of us bleary eyed and bushy tailed. It was quite a sight to see the small village collapse so efficiently.

“Mornin’ Princess.”

I grimaced as the man walked past. “Morning Harmon.”

Harmon was one of the brawn team, a small but stocky man, with a rat like face, and shiny bald head, who had a particular hatred for pulling the cart.

Wait…”Harmon.” I sighed.

“Yes?”

“It’s your shift.”

He rolled his eyes a sulked his way back over to the cart. “Goddammit, bloody Princess…” He picked up the handles and started pulling.

Being the Director’s son had it's perks, but hey, like anything else, it also had its downsides. See exhibit A, nicknames.

***

Dad lead the pack, followed by the cart (still being pulled by a sulking Harmon) and Clayton insisted he took up the rear, pressing that he ‘had his duty to protect the Director and his men’, though he were all issued with a machete and rifle anyway. Our bullets were limited, and we were only given 5 rounds each for the length of the trip, which left some men complaining.

We passed the time in silence, keeping our footfalls a quiet as possible. As a boy, I’d always imagined expeditions as like a school camp. I envisioned my friends and I, walking at a leisurely pace, joking around and singing terrible renditions of our favourite songs, eating, making fires and having an all round blast.

The reality was sobering. Silence, save for the huffing and puffing of exhausted bodies. Stale, dry food, blistered feet, heavy packs. I wondered what ever gave Baby-Me the image of fun on an expedition.

“Oi, Princess!” Harmon’s voice snapped me out of my reverie.

“What is it?” I yelled back.

“Your shift.”

I jogged to catch up with him. “No, I took last shift yesterday.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Look, my back’s aching like hell, and you’re twice as strong as me.” I said, weakly gesturing to the stocky biceps practically bursting from his arms.

He slowly lowered the cart handles, and put his rat-like face inches from mine. I gulped. I had a good half a foot on him, but he was twice as wide.

“Do I look like I care, pretty boy?”

Dad was already getting pretty far ahead, paying zero attention to the brewing mess. Even if I could run to Dad, I don’t think I’d ever live out the consequences. I already earned a nickname for it.

“Fine.” I grumbled.

Later that afternoon, we’d trekked 12 miles through harsh, unforgiving rainforest, and still hadn’t made any real progress - unless a pond counted as progress. The men were complaining, so Dad agreed to a half an hour’s rest.

I was walking over to the pond to wash the sweat off my face, wondering _why the hell we couldn't have brought a horse,_ when he sidled up to me.

“Don’t ask questions. Just come.”

He grabbed my wrist and swerved around the pond, pushing through the surrounding trees and vines.

“Bushbashing are w-?”

“I said don't ask questions. Quiet”

“Jeez, sorry,” I muttered.

We arrived at the edge of the thicket. A small river lay out ahead of us, but before I could get a good look, Dad yanked me down behind the shrubbery.

“Alright. Clayton will be here any minute-” dad started.

“Where’d he go?” I interrupted.

“Bathroom, now liste-”

“But we don’t have any bathrooms.” I tried to suppress a smirk.

“I know. He had to _use_ the bathroom.”

“Wait, do you mean-”

“He had to pee, okay? Now listen!” He whisper-yelled.

“Okay.” I peeped.

“Now. Clayton found her a few minutes ago, when he was trying to find a place to use the bathroom.” I tried not to laugh at how uncomfortable dad looked after that sentence.

“Son! This is serious. Forget the bird. The creature over these shrubs is our priority now. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Clayton materialised through the trees right on time, and crouched next to us.

“We don't know it’s abilities, or hostility levels, or natural habitat, or diet.” dad said.

“Wait, then what _do_ we know?”

“That it has incredibly sharpened senses. It may already know we’re here.”

“Can I just see what the heck we’re actual-” I started to rise, but Clayton yanked me back to the ground by my wrist, hard enough to bruise.

“ _Get_ back down, boy,” he snarled.

“Ow, sorry.”

“Here’s the plan. As soon as we stand, it will see us, so we attack immediately. Machetes out, ropes at the ready. Alex, you take the left flank with your father, I’ll take the right. Godspeed, men.”

From Clayton’s pep talk, I’d expected a lion.

***

She lay on her stomach at the edge of the water. I felt I should be ashamed of her nakedness, but it didn't _feel_ like she was naked. It just felt normal. Dad didn’t think so.

“Savage creature” he said under his breath, peering through the leaves.

“I’ll say…” said Clayton.

The girl was speaking to someone - or something - that much was clear. But the language was beyond foreign. It all sounded like one long flowing, melodic sentence, halfway between a hiss and a gentle gurgle, that all scarily resembled the sound of a brook. At first I thought she must’ve been talking to someone in the water. But when no one surfaced, and she seemingly replied to a ripple caused by nothing, it was strangely obvious she was talking to the water itself.

Then her head snapped back. She scanned the bushes around us, but didn’t see us. She turned back to the water, but the feel was different. Gone was the joyous, carefree nature of her laugh; replaced by hushed voices and darting glances.

She stood up, without a sound, and I realised how beautiful she was. Tall and thin, with light reddy-brown hair falling in waves down to her waist. She had a timeless face, like she could have been 12 or 20. Olive skin, rosy cheeks and freckles. Wide green eyes lit up with a fierce protectiveness, masking the fear.

“Ropes at the ready,” dad whispered, so quietly I almost didn't hear it. But She did. She froze. She saw us. And looked me dead in the eye.

All at once, She was calm.

“On three. One.”

“Two.”

“Th-” Dad stopped short. He was staring at her feet with eyes wide.

At first I thought they were snakes winding their way around her feet and up her legs. Mottled brown pythons, thick as rope. But when they started sprouting leaves, I saw that they were roots. Roots of nearby trees growing and binding her in place. Water surged from the river, and pooled around her knees like a solid block of stone. And our plan went out the window.

The look in her eyes was a challenge.

“Three.”

We burst out of the trees, machetes flying.

I don’t really know what I expected, but I certainly didn't expect everything _but_ her to fight back. Roots grew up around our feet, shackling us to the ground, the water created a wall around her and turned the dirt at our feet to boggy mud, the wind became a tempest, pushing us back, and insects crawled all over us nipping and biting.

She did nothing.

But maybe that _was_ her fighting back.

“Is that it? _That’s_ her defense?” Clayton asked, but he was no actor. The shock in his voice was obvious.

The roots didn't have time to thicken enough, and we sliced through them like butter. Dad brushed the insects off, and Clayton swung his machete like a madman, pushing through the wind and dispelling the water.

With every thudding swack of Clayton’s machete, a tear slipped from her eyes, carrying with them all her determination.

She stepped back slowly as Clayton whipped out his rifle. She called out a series of sounds over her shoulder, and her defenses retreated. The roots here the last to go, with a disturbingly human like hesitation.

He shot before I could say anything.

She collapsed, the red tufted dart sticking out of her neck.

For a moment, none of us moved. Everything seemed to freeze for a second, and we all seemed to hold our breath in anticipation. Anticipation for what exactly, I wasn't sure

Clayton was the first to recover, straightening up and swinging his rifle over his shoulder. “Good work men,” he said curtly.

Clayton trudged over to her crumpled form, inspecting her the way one would look at roadkill. Then he hauled her over his shoulder like a ragdoll, and headed back to camp, her head lolling like a corpse.

***

The moment we stepped foot into camp, half the men shot to their feet and backed away, and the other half stayed in their sitting positions, eyeing us warily.

“Pack it up men. We’re going home.” Clayton said.

A chorus of _why_ , _how_ , and _what the actual hell is that_ followed, which Clayton promptly silenced with a skyward gunshot.

“Forget the bird. This is our prize now.”

“It just looks like a girl.” Came a voice from the small crowd.  

“This creature attacked us, and we had the mercy to spare its life. It is dangerous, do not let it's innocent appearance fool you.” Clayton said.

Okay, that wasn’t fair. The girl hadn’t laid a finger on us, and Clayton was just turning everyone else against her, so he could get the glory. I made to step forward, but a sharp glare from dad stopped me.

Whatever. Let them think what they want to think. She won’t be around for long anyway.

Dad stepped forward. “This creature may give us the advances in medical science that we dreamed to achieve a hundred years from now. That dream has now been accelerated by 99 years. We will save countless lives, and we shall be remembered as heroes!”

The men cheered

“Ready the cage.” Clayton snarled.

With a great clanking of metal, the two men closest to the cart jerked up the top of the collapsible cage, pulling it up to it's full height. Being meant for a bird, however, about a meter tall, would make it a tight fit. Clayton probably took that as a challenge. He pulled her off his shoulder, and all but threw her into the cage, slamming the door. He wasn’t angry, he’s just aggressive like that ~~which is the scary part~~.

I didn’t want to admit my relief when the padlock clicked shut. While I didn't want her to be treated like an animal, for all we knew she could pull knives out of that bloody mane of hers and kill us all. Or something. We didn’t even know if she was human.

* * *

She came to the next morning. We’d covered some good ground yesterday, but were still a solid six days walk from the main road where we left the cars.

“Oi! She’s wakin’ up!” cried Doyle, the greasy man on cart shift.

Soon packs had been dropped and faces were peering through the metal bars at all angles.

She stared back at us, gaze flickering from face to face, taking everything in. She pushed herself farther into the corner of the cage, but her eyes were alight with curiosity, rather than fear.

“Alright, alright, lemme see,” grunted Clayton, with dad peeking behind him in tow. He barged through the small crowd and peered through the bars. Now a speck of fear crept its way into her expression.

It disappeared when dad pushed in front of Clayton and started taking notes on his clipboard.

“He-lloooo,” he drew out, like he was speaking to an alien ~~mind you maybe she was we didn’t have the foggiest~~. The over exaggerated hand gestures he put with the words made it quite the sight though. “My naaame is Eeeernesst. We mean you no haaarm. What is your naaame?”

“Hello.” She said quietly, but not timidly.

“Oh. Right. So you...you _can_ speak, um, English. Right-o. Anyway, so sorry about the cage, but um, well, we don't trust you.” He said matter-of-factly

“It’s quite fair.”

“Fair? Well, I mean of course it's fair. I um..” It was hilarious seeing Dad so lost for words, after always appearing so superior and in control.   
“Right. Well, we’d better get back to the compound in the right time, men, carry on.” He bumbled off, scribbling on his clipboard. Doyle picked up the handles again, and off we went.

Occasionally a stray bird or possum would scurry up to the cage, but she’d whisper something hastily and they’d be on their way.

She didn't say another word on the six day hike back.

***

When the rover engines roared to life, the look on her face was that of pure disbelief. I pulled the cart to a stop at the back of the biggest rover while the other men unloaded the packs.

“I’ve never seen anything comparable to this… What is it?” She almost whispered to me, when the other men were out of sight.

“Uh, it's a rover. A sort vehicle used to transport large supplies, and stuff.”

“A rover,” She repeated.

I hummed in response and went to move the cage into the boot of the rover. Unfortunately, my weedy arms were not up to the task.

“Need help son?” A gruff voice said at my side, at the next one over. It was Clayton who spoke.

“Uh, yeah. Please.”

He came around to the cart and hefted the cage roughly into the back. I mumbled a thank you, and went to climb into my seat, but he caught my wrist.

“You be careful around that thing, you get me?” He said quietly. “We don’t know anything about it, and it’d be best for you, it, and the rest of the men if you were to keep your distance. Clear?”

“Uh y-yes.” I squirmed under his gaze. “Sir.”

I glanced back at the girl, and climbed into my seat. We pulled away from the curb, and started our way along the dirt track, only a few hours from home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hI THERE  
> so i'm really not sure how to this whole authors note thing, normally i just kinda... leave the chapter here...but i am determined. I shall learn.  
> Basically, if you're still here, three things:  
> 1) Hi!  
> 2) Thanks for stickin round thus far  
> 3) You're great. (okay the fact that some people have actually intentionally clicked next chapter blows my mind so thanks heaps my dude)  
> 4) bonus im sorry in advance


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argh i hope all of this made sense, i spent hours and hours trying to get the wording of this right (and im prolly still gonna change it lets be real), so if anythings ambiguous let me know and I'll do my best to make it make sense  
> thankyou lovies x

She stared up at the stone constructions, the hundreds of rovers spinning along the strips of black earth, and the people wearing strange coverings over their bodies and heads. Every time she blinked there was something new to see.

As they travelled, the stone houses grew bigger, more impressive, and more intimidating. The air became heavier. And the trees were reduced to the occasional sapling daring to show it's face between the cracks in the grey.  

Out of nowhere, a rover twice the size of their own sped past in the opposite direction, close enough to touch, and she jumped. When it’d passed she peered through the bars again, watching it slowly disappear in the throng.

Hours ago she’d noticed the lack of wind, and thrust a hand through the bars to the square hole in the side of the rover. She yanked it back when there was no real hole. Only some invisible force blocking the way. She wondered if it was some sort un unmelting ice. She felt eyes on her then, and had turned back to find the youngest of the people looking at her. He quickly looked away.

She caught almost all of the people in the rover staring at her at least once. The smaller ones, with cold curiosity, and the bigger ones with the eyes of a predator before it strikes. The youngest one was different, though. He had the curiosity, but also caution, or respect. She couldn’t read his eyes properly, like she was so used to, because he was looking through circles of that unmelting ice hovering in front of his face.  

Then they came to another building, but this one was different. The stone was darker, and it has no holes filled with that unmelting ice. It had no decorations on the exterior, like so many other structures she had seen. It was was all plain, sharp edges and corners, and vast. Boxy. Like it was meant to keep something contained.

Gravel crunched under the wheels of the rover as they came to a slow halt before an enormous metal door. As she stared, it let out a deafening groan, half clanking and creaking, half earsplitting screech that made her clamp her hands tightly over the sides of her head. The door began to rise. The bottom edge was carved into pointed pillars that begrudgingly pulled out of their respective grooves in the ground, glinting in the afternoon light like teeth.  The inside was dark, only outlines different shades of black were visible to her not yet adjusted eyes.

Had she been stationary, her eyes would have needed only a two seconds to see fine; but the constant movement of the quickly approaching blackness prevented that.

Then she was jolted up as the rover crossed the threshold. She only just caught sight of a shade of green in the distance, on a hill that rose beyond the city, before the shadow encompassed her.

The darkness didn't seem to faze anyone else, even if it did only last for a handful of seconds. Then another door opened and they emerged into brightness once more - but this time she shielded her face. The artificial light burned her eyes, reflecting twice as harshly off the towering white walls of the new room.

Once her eyes adjusted, she saw that this room alone was as big as one of the buildings outside. The walls were smooth and almost painfully spotless, and everything was either white, off-white, light blue, or _really really_ light grey. She thought it made it hard to see things.

The only sources of colour were the rows of dark khaki rovers lining the edges of the room, as far as the eye could see, or the hundreds and hundreds of heads bobbing and bustling. It almost looked like an ocean, if she unfocused her eyes.  

Their eyes were focused as a hawk’s, thought. Each pair stopping in their tracks and staring as she passed.

Soon the rover slowed, and slotted itself into an empty pocket of space among the others, coming to a shuddering halt. The back doors were thrown open, and her enclosure was hoisted onto the shoulders of two of the men. She rather enjoyed that part, actually, save for the metal bars around her of course. She could see above all the heads and though her heart was pumping a fair of amount of terror through her veins, her mind was flooded with curiosity.

“Clayton!” A voice barked. A small man with wispy silver and a large nose stepped in front of them.

“Yes sir?” The one on her left answered gruffly.

“Take it to it's room, medicals will collect her from there.” The small one said, not looking up from a thin white leaf-like sheet in his hand, charcoal markings scribbled across it.

“Yes sir.” the gruff man - Clayton - repeated.

“Unlock the cage only once you’re in the room with the door closed firmly behind yourself.” The small man held a smaller, thicker sheet out to Clayton, maybe the size of his palm.

“Yes sir.” Clayton nodded to the other man supporting her, and they turned to leave.

“Oh, and Clayton?”

“Yes sir?” He leaned down slightly, tilting the bars.

“Keep an eye out for any…” the small man’s voice trailed off, but he tapped the side of his nose with his index finger.

“Of course, sir,” Clayton said quietly.

“Alright, remaining Kingston Expedition men, please gather round for a quick debreif…” The smaller man yelled as he turned around.

She saw the small crowd of men suppress a groan, but obey their order nonetheless. Among them towards the back, the youngest boy caught her eye, chewing on his lip.

***

Clayton and the other man led her out of the white room, and into a corridor significantly darker. She wondered if the constant changes in lighting were purely for the purpose of confusion.

That corridor ended, and they turned left into another, identical to the last. The next was just the same as the one after, and the one before, and the one before that. Though she tried to memorise the order of the grey walls and intersections, she knew she had no hope of remembering their order.

Doors lined the last few hallways, all with strange markings on them, all made up of the same few symbols, but never exactly the same. They grew as they went along, though. Probably numbers.

Clayton held the small sheet in front of his face, scrutinising the black marks and supposedly matching them up with those on the door.

Soon one of the doors matched and she was set on the floor with a clang that echoed through the cold hallway. Clayton waved the small sheet in front of a black box on the the door, a green light flashed, and he pushed the door open while the other man shunted her inside. They locked the door behind them.

The two men faced her, Clayton pulled long sharp silver stone from his belt.

“Alright. We’re gonna let you out, and you’re gonna stay put until we leave, or you’ll wish you had. We don't want no trouble.” She saw the glint in his eye, knowing the suppressed aggression was often merely a mask for fear, though she thought it rather laughable for such a brutish man to be afraid of her.

For a moment she offered them only an understanding expression, but curiosity got the best of her. “Your paranoia serves no purpose. I have no ill intentions, I promise. Why do you and your people harbour so much fear for me?”

He scoffed. “We aren’t afraid of you. We just ain’t stupid.”

“Fair point.”

He stepped forward and undid the lock with a sharp shriek, and stepped back again. The bars swung outward with an anticimatic squeal. She hesitated for only a second, before she unfolded herself from the bars. She stood up slowly, extending her arms above her head and arching her back.

Clayton and the man eyed her warily, but made no forward moves. She looked at them expectantly.

“Good.” Clayton said. “And put some clothes on,” he muttered as they turned, and left.

Though she was not afraid of these people, she couldn't help but notice how her heart sank, just a bit, as the thunk of the lock echoed in her ears.

 

***

Exploring her small room was quite the experience. Though the room was a dull beige when the artificial lights were activated, the colourlessness didn't’ bother her yet, there were too many new things to figure out.

The first thing she discovered was that ‘clothes’ were the coverings she had seen on everyone but herself. There was a neat white square of soft fabric on a shelf extending from the wall, that unfolded when she picked it up. She pulled it over her head, and eventually poked her arms through the sleeves.

She looked down and smiled softly. The clothes was simple, a loose column of thin fabric that just reached her calves, with two sleeves that brushed her mid-forearm. She thought it rather unnecessary, but figured it might work in her favour later to make a good first impression. Besides, she liked how the fabric floated around when she moved.

The shelf she had found the clothes on was just as interesting. It was easily long enough for her - probably a bed. It was only as wide as her arm was long, made of a thick fabric stretched between bars protruding from the wall. She brushed a hand over it, and found it was harsh and scratchy; she expected it would be more comfortable than the floor, but not much.

The only other real object in the room was a knee-height pedestal, hollowed out in the middle, a puddle of water sitting in the bottom. Something told her not to touch it.

In the silence a tiny ticking noise reached her ears. She traced the sound to a circle of unmelting ice on hung on the was above her head.  The room was rather bare, save for the shelf and the pedestal, but a small gridded cut out in the wall drew her curiosity. She crouched down  and peered through one of the small gaps, sticking a finger through experimentally. There was only black beyond.

***

She didn’t know how much time had passed when there was a knock on her door, but it couldn’t have been more than a few hours. The door opened promptly, revealing a tall woman with thick dark hair, in blue clothing. The woman stood in the doorway, but didn't come further.

“Hello,” she said brightly. “My name’s Marian, I’m the MD here.”

“Hello,” she replied.

“Before we do anything, we need to give a quick medical check up, see how your insides are going after all that time alone,” Marian said, smiling.

She decided to trust the new woman and her kind smile.

“Now, there’s just one thing,” Marian said carefully, pulling a thin strap from a pocket in her clothes. She waved the girl over, held the door ajar with her hip and gently took hold of her hands. “It’s just regulation, I’m sorry sweetie,” the girl’s eyebrows furrowed as Marian looped the strap around her wrists and tugged on the end, tightening it enough to hold her hands together. “Though I really don’t think it's necessary…” Marian muttered almost to herself.

“Alright, let’s go,” she nodded towards the hallway behind her. She placed a hand lightly on her arm, leading her from the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

Once again she had no idea where she was going, but soon the walls turned from grey to that aggressive white again.

“Okay, this is called the medical ward, it’s where all the medicines and doctors are,” Marian explained.

“Doctors?” she asked quietly.

“Um, healers, I guess you’d say.” She nodded in understanding.

Marian had light brown skin, and big brown eyes that had a childlike sparkle to them. She couldn’t have been more than thirty, her thick dark hair pulled back behind her head showed no signs of grey for a long while yet. She was tall, too, taller by a good few inches.

Soon they stopped at a door, and Marian pulled out one of the small sheets that Clayton had, swiped it against the handle and swung it open.

“What...What does that sheet do?” She asked.

“Oh this?” Marian held it up. “No one’s explained to you, have they?”

She shook her head.

“Well that’s awfully rude of them. This is a key card. Certain ones unlock certain doors, depending on your job.”

“Huh. Wow.”

The interior of the room seemed slightly smaller than hers, but that might have been because of the several shelves and tables.

There was one large white table pressed neatly into the far corner, covered in instruments she didn’t understand. A bed jutted from the wall opposite the door, slightly larger than the one in her room. It looked a lot softer too. There was a silver table too, with tools laid out on trays. Shelves lined the walls on all sides, covered in more confusing objects.

Marian clicked the door shut behind them, and turned to her, letting out a quick sigh.

“Right. I think these can come off now,” she said, taking her wrists again, and releasing the bond around them, shoving the strap in her pocket. She turned towards on of white table, patting a hand on the big shelf as she passed. “Now pop yourself up here, sweetie, and we’ll get started.”

Marian turned away fiddling with some of the gadgets on the table.

She stepped over to the shelf, and hoisted herself up, a little laugh escaping her lips.

Marian turned towards her again and pulled the silver table over to the bed, sitting on the stump in front of her. She had several somethings stuffed in her pockets all over her clothes. One sat around her neck, an oval shape with a tail that reached her belly button. She pulled the ends apart from the back of her neck and stuffed the ends in her ears, holding the tail end out to the girl.

She flinched before she knew what she was doing.

Marian’s eyes grew sad. “You poor thing. You must be so confused.”

She looked at her like she was going to say something else, seemed like she decided against it, then decided to say it anyway.

“Do you- do you want me to explain everything to you? Before I do it, so you know what’s going on?”

She nodded gratefully.

“Okay,” Marian smiled. “This is called a stethoscope. It let’s me hear your heartbeat by holding it up to your chest. May I?”

She nodded. She held very still as Marian pressed the cool surface to her chest in different spots. It only took a minute before new tools were introduced.

“Okay, this one’s just called an oral-torch, all it does it light up a funny colour so I can see the bacteria on your tongue.” True to her word, it lit up purple.

“Now, my dear, I need you to step over here for me.” Marian gestured towards a thin flat tile next to the white table. “This is called a scale, it tells you how heavy you are. And this little thingy,” she pointed to a toggle on the wall above her head, “tells us your exact height.”

She stepped onto the scales, and watched as the little arm ticked over, and pointed to one of the markings.  

“Only 54, _wow_ ,” Marian muttered. “You haven’t been going hungry all these years, have you?”

“Not at all.”

“Huh. Incredible for a height of…” she paused as she pulled the toggle down to touch the top of Her head. “167 centimeters. You must be just a bundle of muscle.”

She shrugged, never having really thought about it.

After each test Marian would go over to the write table and write things down on a sheet. There were many other tests, and She was gradually starting to become accustomed to the materials and tools and outcomes.

They were there for another half an hour or so when Marian said, “fantastic, we’re finished. Basically, now we know you're healthy to the point of off the charts, a size to strength ratio bordering on superhuman, no deficiencies whatsoever, and an immune system of steel. But for me to record all of this, I need a name to put it under. Well apart from subject number, but I already have that. What’s your name, sweetie?”

“I don't have a name in this language.”

“Really? Well how bout that. I guess you're just Sweetie for now then, huh?”

She hummed in response, a smile playing on her lips.

“Alright. Do you have any questions for me?” Marian asked.

“Um, yes. What’s that? The instrument you used to write those markings? Numbers?”

“Oh this? It’s called a pen, it has ink inside that comes out when you press it to paper, so you can write things really easily.”

“And paper is the white sheet?”

“Exactly, m’dear.”

“Okay, and what was that strap you put around my wrists?”

Marian winced slightly. “Yeah, sorry about those, Sweetie. They’re handcuffs, but they’re also protocol. Anything else?”

“Just one, what am I like in comparison to everybody else? Health wise, I mean.”

“Well, to put it shortly, you are the most evolutionarily advanced human or otherwise I’ve ever encountered. Your body has adapted to fend off infections, diseases, and even super-bugs that we don't even have a vaccine for yet. The bones in your fingers have evolved to fewer to make room for more muscle, and your joints have cartilage as strong as a Bornean orangutan. And that’s only to name a few.” Marian stepped forward and placed her hands on the girl’s knees. “You’re the biggest step forward in biological science in three decades.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow.” Marian paused, looking lost in thought.

A sharp rapping on the door made them both jump. “That’ll be your escort.” She stepped over and opened the door, revealing a tall, large man in white clothes, but no stethoscope around his neck. “Alright lovely, I’ll leave you in these capable hands, but you and I are going to be seeing each other a fair bit, so don’t get sick of me too fast, okay?”

“Okay,” she couldn’t help the smile forming on her lips. She liked Marian. She was nice.

***

The new person replaced her handcuffs quickly. He led her further down the hall they’d come from earlier.

“You’re not a doctor,” she said as they walked.

“No, I’m a guard,” his voice was deep, and sounded older than the man probably was. She hummed in response.

He led her to a door at the end of the hallway, pushing it open. The room was similar to Marian’s, but had very different equipment, and very different people. There were four women, all in the same blue clothes, but they didn’t seem quite as cordial as Marian. They all wore the same blue clothes, but they had no tools. There were scales again, à small pool àt the end of the room, and other tools she was curious to know the purpose of.

She stepped over the threshold, and the guard took her handcuffs off. She was mildly surprised when he turned and left, but she supposed it made sense if he wasn’t a doctor.

The doctors in the room turned their attention to her almost immediately. She was barely over the threshold when one pulled her clothes straight over her head - it felt good to be able to move freely again - another started scraping her hair back into à bunch; one told her to open her mouth, placing à small sheet on her tongue when she did so; and the last one pressed à sticky piece of paper to her upper arm. She stood in silence, letting them go about their seemingly meaningless pursuits, but she took note of everything.

Apparently, so did the doctors, muttering to each other and writing things down on their paper.

Soon she was carted over to the pool, and told to get in. It was smooth and white and made à nice sound when she tapped hair nails against the smooth surface. It almost looked like the inside of an oyster, she thought. The water was warm, almost hot on her skin as she climbed inside, and a cacophony of bubbles had settled on the top, making her smile.

“What’s this called?” she said no one in particular.

The doctors continued their bumbling, wetting her hair and mopping water over her shoulders. “What, the bath?” A doctor with cropped short, brown hair acknowledged her after a second.

“That’s it's name? A bath?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Hm. Okay. Thank you.” She answered, contentedly adding to her vocabulary.

The room smelled strange, almost like eucalyptus, but sharper, and somehow more stinging. The bubbles smelled sweet though - close to sickly, but not quite.

One of the doctors, the smallest one, suddenly pulled one of her arms out of the water and started squeezing à strange smelling cream from a tube and rubbing it into her skin.

“Cleans the dirt out of your skin,’ the doctor muttered when she looked at her expectantly. She only hummed in response, knowing that already she was clean. But they seemed to like cleaning things, so she let them go about their bumbling.

Suddenly her head was tugged back by an unseen force. She turned and saw one of the doctors, one with dark hair, had gathered all her hair in a fist, and was trying to run a stange, bristled object through it. Apparently this task was harder than anticipated, as the doctor made a small humph, and readjusted her grip on both the bristles and her hair. This time she dragged the bristles through with much more force, but only from below her fist, so it quite literally saved her neck.

Another woman, a plumper one, grabbed her hand that was currently sitting in her lap, and started scrubbing under her nails with a stiffly bristled object, not unlike the one being pulled through her hair much more easily now.

“Um, what’s th-”

“A brush,” the doctor interrupted her brusquely.

“Thank you,” she replied softly, in the hopes that the doctor would soften, but to no avail.

Soon the doctors abandoned their other tasks, and she was being scrubbed from head to toe - her skin was red and raw because of it - and all sorts of lotions and creams were spread across her skin.

When they tugged her up and out of the bath, the water had gone cold and the bubbles had popped, so she was quite happy to be out of there. The doctors scraped the water off her, and thrust her clothes back over her, giving her one last once over - brushing her hair and straightening her clothes.

“Um, excuse me, may I ask what all this is for?” She asked politely.

“You must be presentable for dinner. Preferably _clean_ ,” she short haired doctor said curtly.

“Dinner?”

“Yes. Dinner. With the director.”

For the first time she was properly confused, but she didn’t question further. None of the doctors were as nice as Marian. She wondered if she could go to her next time.

Then they pressed a button by the door, and the guard reappeared in a second, she was handcuffed, and pushed out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Another hour passed when she was collected again, by a different man in the same guard uniform. She didn’t completely understand why she needed the handcuffs in the hallways but not the rooms- it’s not like she could go anywhere- but she didn’t question it.

They led her down new halls this time, and they were charcoal again. The stinging smell was gone now, replaced by something she couldn’t quite place.

They turned into a corridor slightly different from the rest, gargantuan oak doors blocking the end. As they got closer, she could admire the intricate carvings scooped out from the wood, and the subtle gold shine lining its border.

The guard placed a push on the line down the centre, and they swung open with only the smallest sound of complaint.

The men at the table stopped their conversation.

“Sir, subject B6734.”

“Yes, thank you. You are dismissed.” said the man at the end of the table. The guard left the room, and the doors shut with a thud.

For a moment there was silence save for the echo of the doors, and the crackling of a fire in the far wall. She stood where the guard left her, unsure of what she was expected to do.

The man at the end of table stood, and she recognised him as the man from the group in the Forest. Ernest, she recalled.

“Please, join us,” said Ernest, gesturing to the seat next to him.

She stepped over, her feet padding on the cool floor the only sound as ten pairs of eyes followed her to her chair.

The table was long, maybe 5 metres, and was made of a rich dark wood, with stacks of what she assumed was food piled high down the middle. There were ten men seated round the table add seemingly random intervals, each with their own plate in front of them. Some were already writing things down on their papers, some just watched her. As she scanned their faces, she recognised two or three from the Forest, including the young one, with the ice-circles on his eyes. He was still different - instead of studying her, his eyes darted around the table, flicking from face to face, almost cautiously.

She sank down into the fabric on the chair when she sat down and almost toppled, but quickly righted herself.

“Well. Now that we’re all here, the fun begins.” Ernest began. “Oh, please, help yourself,” he added, a hand waving to the plates.

She nodded her thanks, and cast her eyes to the myriad of foreign delicacies in front of her.

She decided to humour them, scooping small spoonfuls from the closest platters, and suppressing a smile- some of the men had started writing things down furiously.

“Let's begin,” Ernest said with a yellow smile.

“Begin what?” She asked.

“You're quite curious, I imagine?” She nodded. “Well, so are we. You could be the key to one of the biggest scientific advancements in history. But let's start with the basics.” He shoveled a mouthful of meat between his teeth. “You've never seen a city like ours?”

“No.” Her answer was clipped, but not quite cold.

“How long have you been in that forest, then?”

“For as long as I can remember.” Not quite cold, yet.

“Does that particular forest have any personal significance to you?”

“I love it with every fibre of my very being, yes.” Now her voice was cold.

“Then why did you let us capture you?”

“Why should I be answering your questions?” She asked softly.

They all seemed lost for words.

“Because it could help people.” It was the young one that had spoken, without looking up from his lap.

“A lot of people…” he glanced up from his lap, but quickly cast his gaze down again.

“Yes, thank you, Alex, exactly.” Ernest said a little too loudly.

“So, um, was this a tropical forest, or subtropical, or temperate or…?” A voice piped up from the other end of the table.

“Oh, do shut up Rogers, do you really think she’ll kno-”

“Well judging by some of the descriptions I've heard, the place you took me from was most likely temperate.” Ernest’s mouth snapped shut. She let her lips slope into a smug smile. She was beginning to like proving him wrong.

 

The silence must’ve been awkward for the rest of them as she gingerly scooped - something- onto her plate.

“Now, we are very curious about you, we are. Where you came from, why you were left there, how you've survived for an apparent 18 years, and the likes,” Ernest explained.

“What does that have to do with helping people?”

“Well it's the first step to understanding you, my dear.”

“Um, I just have a question.”

“Yes?” Said Ernest.

“I'm not sure what any of this food is. Would someone be so kind as to tell me?”

“Oh.” Ernest sounded disappointed. The young ones smothered a laugh.

“Well what you have there is roast chutney beef, smoked sweet potato and herb cornbread. Very good for the stomach.”

“Right.” She said. “And why do you not eat things as they are when you pick them? Are your stomachs not yet evolved enough to digest such raw nutrients? Or is it a show of wealth, to distort food beyond recognition?” Her questions had the most innocent of intents, but she wasn't surprised when half the men frowned, the other half scoffed, and the young one smirked.

“We like how it tastes.” Ernest said through closed teeth.

A large man down the other end of the table cleared his throat. “Excuse me, um, miss, what did your diet consist of normally?”

“All sorts of things.” She said simply.

“Things such as…?”

“Anything I find and want to eat.”

The man sighed. “What foods did you find on a frequent basis?”

“Foods not unlike these but in their natural forms.”

The man sighed again, and another man spoke up.

“How do you find shelter?”

“Shelter finds me.”  

The man leaned over and said something quietly to his neighbor, and soon a small but rather invigorated discourse was taking place, and though the young one looked mildly anxious, she was just grateful for the break from questions. She took a mouthful of the beef, and chewed slowly, rolling it over her tongue. There was something faintly foreign about it, but she liked it well enough, so she took another bite.  

For the rest of the evening, they would ask her a question, write down her answer, and then discuss what it really meant for a good five sometimes ten or fifteen minutes.

She ate until she was just full, but no more. Their food was safe, she knew that, but it was just _weird_.

The only question she felt she could safely answer was the last, from the youngest, it was the only other time he spoke up.

“What’s your favourite flower?”

She smiled. “White roses. The little ones with the long stems.”

He nodded, a small smile gracing his lips.

For a second they just looked at each other, and a soft sort of mutual understanding passed between them. Somewhere in the near distance she heard a guard stomping over to her chair to haul her back to her room.

As she shuffled out of the hall, she caught a whisper from Ernest: “ why did you ask her that?” He must've been talking to the young one. She was curious herself, so the asked the guard to wait, deciding to use their simple unintelligent view of her to her advantage, and pretended to examine the doorframe.

“She looked scared, Dad. It was the only thing I could think of to make whet feel a little less like we're gonna kill her.”

She suppressed a smile.

“On that note,” the young one continued, “is that guard really the best choice? She looks so scared, Dad.”

“Does it matter? Who else is going to take her back?” Ernest asked.

“I will,” he said.

“Whatever son, if it makes you feel better.”

“You done?” The guard grunted.

“Um actually I believe-” she started, and the boy walked in right on cue.

“Thank you, sir, but I can take it from here.” The guard grunted his approval and stalked off to find some poor other prey to stalk.

“Uh, this way,” he said gingerly.

Several times, took a breath like he was going to say something, but he closed his mouth before he ever did. She almost burst with anticipation of what could possibly be so difficult to say.

Soon they were a few steps from her door, and then he finally spoke up.

“Um, I'm, uh, I'm Alex, by the way.”

“Hm. Well, thank you very much Alex,” she said, trying to coax him out of his shell.

“If you, uh, ever have any questions, just let me know,” Alex said.

“I will, thank you.”

He opened his mouth and shut it again several times, looking at the floor, like he was carefully picking out his words before he strung his sentence together. She waited patiently, hoping to draw him out of his shell a little bit more.

“What’s your name?” He said suddenly, not looking up.

“My name?”

He nodded. His eyes darted to hers for a fraction of a second. She hadn’t expected such a question; she assumed they’d already given her a name, or at least a title to go by.

“Well, many different beings call me many different things.” She said slowly.

“Like what?”

“Well, the Waters call me-” she made a small, hushed sound that brought him back to the forest when they found her, a complexly specific inflection that he would have no hope of recreating.

“Oh, um, okay. Well, what other things are you called?”

Suddenly he was hearing the wind, branches creaking in the breeze, the click of a squirrel, the plunk of a pebble to a stream. And it all came from her mouth.

“That’s...those are your names?” He asked incredulously.

She nodded, her eyes shining.

“Right. Okay, don’t get me wrong, that was the probably the coolest thing I’ve heard all week, but do you have any names that I could possibly pronounce?” He asked, chuckling a tiny bit.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a name in your language,” she said simply, and sat down on the edge of the cot. He took a few tiny, absentminded steps over the threshold of her room.

“You don’t have a name?”

She shook her head.

“Well,” his shyness had taken over again, his voice soft and almost sheepish. “Instead of you being referred to as a subject number, maybe I could help you, I don’t know, come up with a name, or something…”

“That sounds wonderful.” She scooched over, and patted the spot next to her on the cot. He sat down gingerly.

“Well, what names have you heard so far?”

“I’ve only heard your father’s, Clayton,” she paused, thinking. “Marian, Keldsen, and you.”

“Hm, okay.” He scooted back and leaned his head against the wall.

“What about Rosie?” he asked, many minutes later.

She smiled. “I love it.”

He looked at her then. “Rosie it is then. It’s my mother’s middle name.” he added the last part quietly, a wistful smile on his lips.

“What’s she like?” she asked softly.

“She’s great. You’ll love her.”  

They sat in silence for a while, and a silent understanding seemed to pass through the pair.  

“Alright, well, I’ll uh...I’ll leave you alone then,” he said, unfolding himself from his place on the cot, and standing.

He opened his mouth and shut it again several times, like he was debating which words to pick. All he said in the end was, “’Night, Rosie”

“Goodnight Alex,” she said back.


End file.
